


The Stark Sisters

by Svurslf1st



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Arya and Sansa are sisters, Birth, Canon compliant up to 8x03, Death, F/M, Family, Gen, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Love, Men are shit at assisting women with birthing guys, Not Canon Compliant, Sisterly musings, Sisters, They can act like sisters, Training, boys are stupid sometimes, life - Freeform, seriously, the lord’s kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-02-16 08:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18687772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svurslf1st/pseuds/Svurslf1st
Summary: 5 times Sansa and Arya Stark talked (and one time Arya just listened).





	1. Podrick is Trash

**Author's Note:**

> One thing that has always bothered me in seasons 7 and so far of 8 is how little Sansa and Arya act like sisters. The relationship between sisters is often complicated and this is my interpretations of what it was like for them to be together in different situations. This is technically canon compliant but none of the scenes are part of the world. One is past, the rest are future set.

 

**Podrick is Trash.**

 

    _Clash. Clang. Thump._ Sansa is quite certain that Podrick is improving, but he’s improving far too slowly for Brienne’s liking, or for Sansa’s if truth is told. He was rolling to his knees already, setting himself up for another attack already. She wants him to be better. Brienne is her sworn shield, but Bran is in need of one. In need of male company to perhaps pull him out from inside of the Three Eyed Raven and bring him back into their lives once more.

    “That Squire is absolute trash.” The voice comes from behind her, and she hadn’t heard it coming before just now. She clenched her jaw just slightly. She was becoming more used to Arya’s cat-like quietness, but it was one of her sister’s new annoy habits. It was nice how she had replaced mocking Sansa for her embroidery and niceties with sneaking and coy smiles of knowing. It made Sansa want to revert back to her old self, made her want to yell at her sister. However, Arya was her sister, and Sansa loved her deeply, more than she could possibly ever express now that she had her back, but she was still so bloody annoying.

    “Podrick has greatly improved, even since you arrived,” Sansa replied finally, her jaw relaxing despite the remaining stiffness of her shoulders and spine from years of determined practice. Arya had her armor, and Sansa had her own. Being the embodiment of Winterfell in human form worked well for Sansa now. “He simply needs more time.”

    “According to Bran we don’t have more time,” Arya replied as she finally moved to stand next to Sansa, her hands clasped behind her back instead of in front as Sansa’s were. “The Night King is coming, isn’t that what he said?”

    “Yes, yes, that’s true.” Sansa sighed. She watched as Podrick stood up and took his stance again. He moved with determination, something she was certain was useful in battle. She didn’t know anything about war, or combat, not truly. She had only watched tourneys, she hadn’t been exposed to battles or life or death fights like her brother, or Brienne, like Arya, or even Podrick. The only battle she had ever seen was the Battle of the Bastards, and that was from a great distance. It made her no expert, but she did know that in life… in life determination meant something. It meant that you were willing to fight, to learn, even if those lessons came at great cost. It was something she knew well herself.

    “The kitchen wenches all speak well of him,” Arya said, a slight amount of amusement in her voice. “They say he is _kind_ and _sweet_ and _charming._ ” It was obvious that Arya already knew of Sansa’s quiet fondness for Podrick Payne. He was kind, and sweet. She wasn’t sure about charming because he was always stumbling over his words around her, but he was certainly the other two. She enjoyed his quiet company and he was the only man other than Jon that she let be alone with her.

    “Yes, and if the other rumors are true then he is quite good in bed and we will have more than a few bastards running around if things continue this way.” There was clear snark under her words, the tone would only be recognizable by those who knew her well, which was virtually no one now.

    “Sansa,” she said with an amused gasp. “Is that any way for the Lady of Winterfell to talk about her sworn shield’s Squire?” She asked, still facing the courtyard as the smile played around her lips again.

    “I do quite wonder what he could possibly do that would have so many women fawning over him. I suppose he is handsome in a rather plain way,” Sansa mused.

    “Perhaps it is The Lord’s Kiss?” She suggested to the elder Stark. “I hear that a man well versed in that can send most any maid into a tizzy.”

    Sansa’s own lips upturned in that and she shook her head slightly. “I would not know anything about that.”

    “Nor would I,” Arya agreed.

Sansa turned her head slightly to look at her younger sister. “Never?” She asked curiously. “I thought things in the Free Cities were… well more free.”

Arya let out a real laugh at that. Those were rare now from either of them. “Just because the cities were free, doesn’t mean I was,” she said. “I had other things to occupy my time and well… there wasn’t anything else I wanted. If I was curious, I simply snuck into a whore house to watch.”

“Arya! You didn’t!” She gasped out, her words quiet but her tone completely scandalized. She knew she shouldn’t be. She had probably been through things even whores wouldn’t dream of, things hidden beneath layers of ice and cloth, but something about her little sister watching whores made her both want to blush and giggle. And it was a standard answer. Arya didn’t talk about her time in Braavos other than the very basics. Sansa knew other things had happened, but she didn’t ask what. If Arya wanted her to know, she would tell her.

“Men are pigs,” Arya said, shaking her head. “If nothing else, I learned that in Braavos.” She paused. “Sansa, if Jon has bent the knee, truly, I do hope you stay Lady of Winterfell. As much as I love our dear brother, I don’t believe he’s smart enough to run this place as it’s needed. He’s a warrior, he wasn’t trained to run a castle, not like you.”

Sansa smiled but didn’t reply, not to that. “Mayhaps you should listen more, find out what makes Podrick so special. You are very quiet now.” Not like before. She hadn’t been quiet before.

“Mayhaps I will. Mayhaps you should find out yourself, Lady Stark. After all, you do intend for him to be our darling baby brother’s sworn shield,” she said with a smirk. “You should really know what the man is made of.”

“Mayhaps I will.”


	2. When the She-Wolf Cries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Battle of Winterfell, Gendry falls. Sansa asks her sister a very important question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IF YOU HAVE NOT SEEN EPISODE THREE THEN PLEASE DO NOT FUCKING READ THIS.

* * *

Arya was crying. Sansa couldn’t remember the last time she had seen that happen. The last time she had called her Arya Horseface? When Jon had went to the wall and they had headed to King’s Landing? Sansa knew that she hadn’t cried over skinned knees, or when she fell during her dancing lessons (that her father and Arya were so certain she had not known about, but she had, she had caught on eventually).

The cries weren’t great wracking sobs, they weren’t screams of terror, they were just silent tears, sliding slowly down her cheeks in tracks of the kind of hollow pain that no one could ever seem to explain. Sansa had cried those before, at the loss of herself, the night of her second wedding. Arya’s tears hurt her more than the memory of that night every could. She moved impulsively, against her training as Lady of Winterfell and wrapped her arms around her sister, soothing her hair back, wanting to give her something even if she didn’t know how to fix the hurt inside of her.

Sansa was not a stupid woman, just slow, and she had caught on slowly to the changes Gendry brought to her sister, over time. Arya had never been like other Ladies, she had never considered herself above the small folk, she always thought that they could be the best of people just as their father had. That wasn’t something that had changed within her, it just was. Perhaps it was her love of Jon, perhaps it was her feeling of otherness because she didn’t like the things that she was supposed to like. Whatever it was, it was something that Sansa had grown to admire of her sister, and was something she wished that she had much earlier in her own life. But Gendry was different. She didn’t smile when she left the kitchens or the training yard as she did when she left the forge. Leaving the forge put a spring in Arya’s step that couldn’t be ignored and Sansa hadn’t ignored it.

They had been in an odd sort of triangle when it happened. She and Tyrion had just finished digging their way out of the blockage of bodies in front of the crypt doors, the remaining women and children flooding out behind them. Neither were clear on exactly  _ how _ the dead had suddenly fallen, but they had and they were glad for it despite the losses they had been forced to endure. Part of her could still feel the ghost of Tyrion’s lips on her gloved hand. A quiet vow. I will stay with you, we will go together. It had been the promise that had fully steeled her resolve and made her move.

Arya had been coming over one mound of bodies from the direction of the Godswood, and Gendry’s and Tormund had been coming down a virtual mountain of dead wights and soldiers from the other side. All three were bloody and matted in dirt and debris. Arya had called Gendry’s name before she started running and jumping over bodies, and the young man had started to move faster, but it was clear that he was hurt from the way he held his side and Tormund had an arm under his shoulder. Sansa couldn’t hear what Tormund was telling him, she would learn later that he was saying  _ Slow down, ye southern bastard. The girl isn’t going anywhere. _ His words apparently did not comfort his companion, but Gendry was moving too quickly, Sansa could see that from where she stood with Tyrion. When he fell, tumbling down the rest of the bodies, hitting his head on the way against a steel and dragon glass shield, Arya let out a scream and ran quicker.

Now he was lying in a bed. The Maester had said that it was all up to him now, it was up to him to decide if he was going to wake up. Arya had refused Masester Wolken’s help, insisting that she was fine, that Gendry needed the help more than she did, and now she sat beside the bed in the smithy, clinging tightly to his hand, and crying. She was surprised that it had remained standing, in fact it was almost neat compared to everything else. His clothes were carefully laid out in the corner on a small table. There were no books or personal items outside of Gendry’s hammer which Tormund had brought inside and set next to the small table.

Sansa knew she needed to find Jon, needed to find out what happened, but she couldn’t leave Arya just yet. She didn’t need a Maester, she needed her sister. So she sat down in the other chair and gently wiped the cut on her face, removing the dirt and blood from her face as she went. It would heal, she would live, they would all live for now. “Do you know what happened?” She asked. “You were out there, fighting. Did Jon do it? Did he kill the Night King?”

“No,” Arya said softly, not looking away from Gendry, not fighting the way Sansa cleaned her face.

“I wonder how—“

“I did it,” Arya said finally. “I killed him. With the dagger Bran gave me.” Sansa’s hand stilled for a moment as she looked at her sister. Arya reached up and pulled her collar down. “I told Death not today and slammed my knife into his heart.” She dropped her hand. Sansa realized she had never looked away from Gendry, and she was still crying, not that Sansa could blame her. The sat like that for a few more minutes, Sansa finishing cleaning her face before she set the rag to the side.

“How long?” She asked softly.

“Wh-what?” Arya managed to gasp out after a moment, looking up at her sister finally and away from the bastard, smith boy.

“How long have you loved him?” She asked gently. “How long has this man had the power to break my strong, fierce, beautiful sister’s heart?”

“I don’t know,” she said finally before she laid her head down, resting her now clean face against the dirty arm of the young man. Her eyes were still on Sansa but they occasionally casted back to the man. “I didn’t realize what it was, until he fell, and now I may never get to tell him.” She sighed and looked back to him.

“You will,” Sansa said softly, stroking the younger girl’s filthy hair. “I don’t think The Stranger would ever want to be on your bad side,” she said with a gentle smile.

Arya almost smiled back and clung more tightly to Gendry’s hand. “No, they wouldn’t.” She watched the even movements of the furs that said he was still breathing and Sansa watched as her other hand came to cover Sansa’s. “I’ve cut myself off from feeling for so long, Sansa, part of me feels as though I’m drowning.”

“I can see that, darling,” she said softly, stroking her head again, softly picking out bits of… well people and dropping it to the ground. She would have the smithy cleaned later. The man who her sister loved deserved a clean room. “And I know what it’s like, but I promise, it won’t be forever. Eventually… he will wake up. Because if he doesn’t you’ll go after him.”

“I will,” Arya said fiercely and Sansa smiled. There was the Wild Wolf of Winterfell. The girl who refused to be a lady and wanted to take on the world. “I will do anything to keep him.”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I just want to say that I haven’t written fanfiction in close to a decade. I write other things but not fanfiction anymore. So to get the number of reads I’ve received has blown me away today because it made me realize perhaps it doesn’t suck as much as I thought it did.


	3. Our Brother is a Dumb Cunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Language, Arya!  
> Arya and Sansa discuss their brothers.

The look on Arya’s face could only be described as baffled, and Sansa was sure that her own face mirrored it. Jon had just told them everything, everything he had known for a week now and had told no one except for Daenerys, right before they had all gone into battle and almost died. Both boys,  _ no men _ Sansa corrected herself, were staring at them rather stupidly if she was to give the situation an honest, outside perspective. Jon was staring at his hands, glancing up at them occasionally, Bran was sitting silently, his hands holding onto the arms of his chair.

“If you are both going to just sit there waiting until we decide if we are going to scream, then you had both best be on your way,” Sansa said primly. “We are hardly the fainting and screaming types anymore.”

“Sansa—“

“I’m assuming you don’t want to take your rightful throne?” Arya asked, interrupting their elder brother before Jon shook his head in response. “Good, that would be rather dumb. The Queen still has her dragons and I don’t think you being her nephew or lover would stop her from letting them eat you. Or at least the big one, since you ride the smaller one. He might be partial to you.”

“How did you—“

“I am not stupid,” Arya said, raising an eyebrow. “I have eyes. Aside from that, Sansa knew, so naturally she passed along the information.” Jon frowned, his eyebrows drawing together.

“She is my sister,” Sansa said calmly. “But I do believe that it would be best for Arya and I to have a few moments alone, to discuss this between ourselves. We need to adjust to our new reality, and decide what this means for House Stark. Bran has refused his titles, you will undoubtedly become the Queen’s Consort. Things are about the change.”

Then men left the room and Sansa stood, pouring two cups of wine before handing one to her sister. “Our brother is a dumb cunt,” Arya bit out before she took a long drink of wine.

“Which one?” Sansa asked, mocking the situation at hand before she sat back down, crossing her legs smoothly.

“Good point, both of them,” she said before she looked up at her sister. “He is still our brother.”

“Of course he is. It doesn’t mean he isn’t  _ stupid _ ,” Sansa growled before she took another sip of her wine. “They are both so… such idiots. They don’t understand how much what they do affects the world around them. If the Northern Lords were to learn of this… We still see him as a Stark, as our brother, but they will see him as a Southern Dragon. They will stop seeing him as one of us.”

“All that matters is that they keep seeing you, that they keep seeing me,” Arya said with a sigh.

“Arya, did you just agree to act as a Lady of Winterfell?” Her sister snorted in amusement and took another deep sip from her glass.

“I don’t know if that’s what I’m agreeing to,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m just trying to say that… I won’t leave, won’t leave you or the North. Once Cersei is dead—“

“That’s leaving the North, Arya.”

“Cersei is on my list. I’ve already given The Mountain to Sandor—“

“Oh, it’s Sandor now?” Sansa asked with a smile.

“It is,  _ Little Bird _ .” Sansa’s eyes snapped to her sister. “He mumbles in his sleep, especially when he’s had too much wine. You are his biggest regret, Sansa. That he didn’t save you.”

She could feel herself blushing at her sister’s words, her entire body heating with a combination of memory and regret. She took another sip of her wine. “I had to learn to save myself, just like you did. No one will ever hurt me again, because I will always remain in Winterfell.”

Arya smiled softly. “I promise, I promise I will come back, Sansa. If I have to leave, I will return.”

Sansa sighed. “Our brothers are still so dumb.”

“Oh, by the Old Gods they are,” Arya agreed, shaking her head. “And Jon is only going to be dumber.” She smiled sweetly. “Perhaps we need to remind our dear Queen that the pack survives.”

“Tyrion tells me that he has advised the Queen to legitimize Gendry, to make him Lord of Storm’s End, the Warden of the East,” Sansa said as she poured herself another glass of wine. “What are your thoughts on that?”

“I don’t have any thoughts on political alignments, Sansa, you know that,” Arya said with a shake of her head.

“If this happens, he will have to leave Winterfell, Arya. It would be a smart political alignment and it would keep you with him. With the man you love.”

“It would make me Lady of Storm’s End. Lady Baratheon, Sansa. I don’t know how to be a Lady. I don’t want to be a Lady, I never have.”

“But you want to be with him,” Sansa said softly. “Arya, love matches are so rare in our world. Jon said he would never force us to wed, that he wouldn’t ask it of us. He said he would never let our home be taken from us again, but Winterfell isn’t your home anymore.” Sansa paused as Arya looked outraged. “It isn’t your home, because he is. Arya, I watched you almost fall to pieces after the battle, when you thought he wouldn’t wake up. If you let him go, Arya, you will regret it for the rest of your life, just like I regret not leaving that night with Sandor,” she said softly.

Arya was watching her, she could feel it. “If he asks, I will think of it. I won’t tell him no right away. I might make him beg for it though.”

“I would expect nothing less,” she said with a grin over the brim of her glass before she took another sip.


	4. I’m terrified, Sansa. (You can do this. We can do this. I have you.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya faces the scariest thing she has ever faced.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this obviously isn’t canon compliant at ALL anymore.

* * *

Arya stared at the Maester. This wasn’t possible. It wasn’t. When she had agreed to marry Gendry and become the Lady of Storm’s End, the Wardeness of the East, she knew that eventually she would become a mother because that was what was required. She would have to give Gendry at least one heir now that he was the last of the Baratheons as was her duty. She would become Lady Arya Baratheon, she would leave the Stark name behind but never stop being who she was, at least not this soon.

“It… it can’t be,” Arya whispered, staring at the floor between herself and Maester Wolken, sitting on the edge of her bed.

“Maester, thank you for your assistance,” Sansa said, her tone soft but final. The man bowed slightly and exited the chambers Sansa and Arya were sharing, when she hadn’t been sharing chambers with Gendry in the forge.

Despite being the new lord of Storm’s End, he was still most comfortable in the fires of the forge and no one had dared try to upturn their nose at the woman who had ended the Night King and could very easily kill anyone she wanted to. No one had dared say a thing after that. Now she kind of wished someone had. She let out a shaky breath and looked up at her sister who was standing with her hands clasped in front of her.

“Well, it is a good thing that you are already planning to marry the man,” Sansa said sensibly, sitting down in the chair across from her sister. This did not make her feel any better.

“I- I can’t do this, Sansa,” Arya hissed. “I can’t be a mother, I never wanted to be a mother. I knew that I would have to have a child someday, but… I didn’t think it would be now. I can’t be a mother, I don’t know how. I don’t know how to do this, Sansa,” she said before looking up at her sister, her eyes filled with fear. The brave Arya Stark, the Wild Wolf, the Faceless Man, the Night Slayer, brought to the feet of fear not by magic or death, but by the tiny alien being growing inside of her currently.

Sansa’s hand reached out and covered her’s, squeezing it gently. “I don’t think anyone knows how to be a mother,” Sansa said gently. “But I know that if you can become a Faceless Man, if you can kill the Night King, if you can survive on your own for half a decade… then you can become a mother, and a good one, Arya.”

“I’m terrified, Sansa,” she admitted softly.

“You can do this, Arya.  _ We _ can do this. I will be with you, by your side the whole time.  _ Gendry _ will be with you.” She gave he a soft smile.

Arya gave her a stiff nod, though a small part of her just wanted to sob uncontrollably at the thought of any of it. “You’ll come with me, to Storm’s End?” She asked softly.

“Yes, until the baby is a few months old. I will be with you.” The silence between them was comfortable as they smiled at one another, both knowing that they truly had one another’s backs, that they were truly a pack now. After all, Sansa had just agreed to leave Winterfell, something she had sworn she would never do again.

“You know I blame Mother and Septa. They really should have given us more practical lessons for—“

“The events of thinking you were going to die and seeking comfort in the only man who ever treated you like yourself? Arya, I don’t think most mothers or septas are trained for such things. Luckily your child will know. If I had been thinking straight I would have recommended moontea… I suppose that is still an option, though it would have to be a much stronger dose and should it work, it would be much more painful,” Sansa cautioned. The option flitted around the dark corners of her mind, the corners that still wanted to cling to the part of her that was free.

“What do you think?” Arya asked softly.

“I think that is a decision only you can make, Arya,” she said softly. “But I think that in the end you might regret it. No matter what this child is one that was conceived of love, the love of two people who truly know one another and ask for nothing except space in the other person’s heart.

Arya nodded and took a small breath, giving her sister just a hint of a smile. Sansa was good at this. She would make a good mother. “You should marry Podrick,” she said, quite suddenly if she were to admit it.

“What?” Sansa asked, though she was fairly certain it had come out as a ‘whuut?’ at her surprise.

“Podrick Payne. Daenerys has knighted him after the battle. He’s from an old house if not an important one. He would certainly take the Stark name to continue it on, now that the name stands on your shoulders. He’s kind, noble, honorable, and he is rather handsome. Perhaps not a  _ Golden Lion…”  _ She trailed off, grinning mischievously at her.

_ “ _ Oh, you will stop that right now and never say it again,” Sansa snapped, her eyes shooting daggers as her younger sister laughed in amusement. “Podrick is a good man indeed, but—“

“Father said everything before but is horse shit,” Arya interjected, still grinning. “I think it could apply the other way, don’t you? He would be good to you, and he would never force you to do anything you didn’t want. Mostly because Brienne would  _ murder him _ .”

“Not to mention what you would do?” She asked. “He is a Knight, and he is very kind.”

“Father wanted someone brave, and kind for you,” Arya said softly. “You deserve someone brave and kind. You deserve a man who fulfills the dreams you had when your dreams were still songs, Sansa.”

Sansa gave her hand a small squeeze. “Mayhaps.”


	5. You can’t leave me alone in this world! (Not Today.)

 

They had fought battles, wights, mad queens, their own people. The most frightening thing Sansa had ever done was to watch her sister struggle to bring her niece or nephew into this world.

“Gendry, you son of a bitch I will  _ murder _ you!” Arya howled, her voice weak from hours of saying similar things, and squeezed Sansa’s hand painfully as her husband held her other hand, refusing to leave but also not saying a word. Arya had been laboring for over twenty hours and pushing for close to two. Gendry was worried, Maester Rickard was worried, Sansa was worried. Too many women still died in childbirth, and Sansa’s greatest fear was that her sister would be among them this day. She could see that Gendry’s eyes were full of the same fear. Fear that he would lose his wife or child, or both, Maester Rickard was a good Maester but it had been years since a child was born in Storm’s End.

Two Dothraki maids blew into the room then, Daenerys a step behind them. “Sansa, Arya, they are here to help,” the blonde said. “They are both experienced midwives who have helped bring many children into the world, recently,” she said with a kind smile to the Maester. They were already moving around the room, adjusting things, helping to lift Arya and speaking in broken common tongue, telling Gendry to help her move to her knees. The older one rested her hands on Arya’s stomach and pushed before shaking her head.

“Baby is turn,” she said. “Face wrong way. Woman no meant to give birth on back! On knees, or stand.” Sansa understood. The Dothraki didn’t have Maesters, didn’t have men telling them how to give birth. They gave birth beneath the stars, even now. The ones who remained in Westeros with their Great Khaleesi did it even now, and Sansa had heard since the Southern Maesters had started implementing some of their practices, birthing deaths had gone down. “She-Wolf is no meant to be on her back,” the woman says with a smile as Sansa rests her hand on Arya’s back, letting her sister know she hasn’t left, that she has kept her promise.

The birthing goes smoother after that. Sansa and the Dothraki midwives help Arya with Gendry whispering soothing words and kissing his wife’s face, telling her how much he loves her, how proud of her he is. He tells her that he can’t wait to meet their child, to hold it, and for his darling wife to raise their Stag to be as fierce as every Wolf. Arya sobs with the last push as their son is born fully into the world. Gendry is naming him Eddard before Arya can say anything, naming him for the man who brought his wife to the world, who brought them together. The boy’s lungs are strong, he is screaming as Arya collapses. Daenerys is helping Gendry wrap the child in thick blankets as the Maester and the midwives are moving Arya.

There is so much blood. So much blood.

“Your Grace, please take our Goodbrother out, have him introduce our nephew to his uncles,” Sansa said as ice swept through her veins. There was no room for fear now. She had to be strong because Arya could not save herself from this danger. Daenerys was already doing it. She was already pulling Gendry out with surprising strength as he cried out for his wife. The pain in his voice reminded Sansa of those nights long ago when Arya had held his hand and begged him to come back to her.

Sansa heard the words again.  _ It is up to Lady Baratheon now, Lady Stark. Only she can decide if she wants to come back to us now. _ Sansa sent them all away and held her sister’s hand. She changed the sheets, redressed her sister, brushed her hair and braided it. An hour later she moved to sit next to her on the bed, brushing her cheek softly.

Time passed slowly. Hours creeped and Arya didn’t move other than the soft rise and fall of her chest and the dashing of her eyes beneath their lids. Gendry returned with little Eddard, holding him tightly. The baby had stopped crying and was now sleeping peacefully in his father’s arms. He carefully took Arya’s other hand in his and then looked up, locking eyes with Sansa. He gave her a small nod.

In the past year they had grown closer, come to an understanding. He loved her sister more than he loved himself, and that made Sansa love him. She was quite certain no one else could ever love her sister as she was except for this man. This man who had never asked her to do anything other than give him a small bit of space in her life. She had given him more. She had married him, given him love, given him a Lady, and now given him a son. She knew him well enough to know he was blaming himself. She would do her best to soothe that away, but she knew it wouldn’t end until Arya called him a stupid bull once more.

Sansa didn’t leave the room at all. She took all of her meals in the Lord’s chambers with Gendry. Three times a day he left with his son for a walk. He was furious he was having to use a wet nurse. He had told Arya it was her choice if she wanted to use one, but now she wasn’t even able to make the decision.

Now they were alone. Gendry said he was going to take the boy to see the smithy. Sansa had smiled. It was just like Gendry to take his two day old son to the smithy. She sat down next to her sister again and brushed her hair back. She had plaited it to one side in an effort to keep it clean and maintained as she could. It reminded her of when they were children.

“You aren’t allowed to leave me,” Sansa said softly. “It isn’t allowed. I came south, to Storm’s End of all places and stayed with you. I kept my promise, Arya. Don’t break yours. Please, please don’t leave me alone in this world. You have to come to my wedding. I know it isn’t a northern one, but you must come.” She leaned forward and pressed her forehead to the younger woman’s. “Please, please don’t leave me alone.” She breathed slowly, exhaling slowly, her hand still traveling over the deep brown hair slowly. She hadn’t prayed to the gods, the old or new. She hadn’t said word to the Stranger because she knew The Stranger would not come for Arya Stark, Sansa was sure of that. She wasn’t so sure about the God of Death that Arya didn’t worship but had a relationship with.

The cough startled her as did the croak of “Not today.” Sansa gasped and opened her eyes, looking down at her sister who was blinking sleepily at her. “Not today. Bastard almost got me that time.”


End file.
